


A Work of Fate

by mellocarmarsh



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Age Difference, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Minor Cuba/Canada, Monaco (minor character) dies, RusAme, prucan, ukfr - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22514518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellocarmarsh/pseuds/mellocarmarsh
Summary: After Francis's world crumbles apart, he adopts the baby his sister dreamed to have and decides to take part in online dating.Arthur's mother dumps another woman's baby into his arms and claims Arthur is its new guardian. He gives in and discovers the life of a young father as he struggles with his past and current identity.These two meet via social media and decide to raise their babies together once they realize they're twins.
Relationships: America/Russia (Hetalia), Canada/Prussia (Hetalia), England/France (Hetalia)
Comments: 17
Kudos: 62





	1. All The Things She Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is All The Things She Said by t.A.T.u.

Monday 6:34 PM

5th of November, 2012: First Entry

I held a wine glass in my  right hand; a cigarette in my  left . My sister knows I drink when stressed and smoke when nothing can destroy the pile of issues clouding my mind. What she doesn’t know is that no amount of words can change my ways. Yet she tries and she nags and I want to tell her to fuck off—but I can’t. 

It wasn’t my mother’s fault. He made her drink. The man I refuse to call Father ruined Maman's life and abandoned us without a consequence. Every night, sobs echoed throughout the empty apartment, shaking my young soul until tears covered my face as well; I don't know what  truly happened, but her pain was clear.

When Papa adopted us, he told me what happened to my real parents the same way adults tell kids the dog will  never wake up again. He said having a baby had worn her  out so much she  left Earth and asked God for a break. Maman died of childbirth. Papa said Maman was an angel and God promised her rest if she took care of tasks that would keep her from home for eternity. I believed it for a while. Bailee still does.

“Why is Bailee weird?” I’d ask Papa. I found it strange how she slurred her words while speaking; how her body tumbled like a palm tree swaying in the wind. Maman's "lifestyle" caused Bailee brain damage. 

“Her brain is sick,” he explained, “Don’t bother her about it. She can’t help it.” It didn’t take long to understand her habits,  even though I've started to hate the “you have to be gentle with her when you speak” rule. She isn't a child anymore. She can handle it. Yet I can’t bring myself to raise my voice; to shove her  away . I have to remind myself that she’s  not doing it on purpose.

“Francis,” Bailee called from the door, “Come back inside.” She spoke with a smile on her face, slurring her words a bit. Nodding, I told her I’ll go in a minute. My cigarette had gotten pretty short, anyway. I flicked it to the ground with a sigh, ground my shoe on it, and walked inside. Then, I sauntered across the living room to sit next to Bailee who watched TV. 

“What did you do today?” I asked genuinely. I do care for her after all. 

She faced me, thin-framed glasses delicately placed on her nose as she pulled a thoughtful expression. “I watched TV, walked Belle-- she was funny today. She didn’t like the sun. I went to see babies with Henry, and now I watch TV again.” 

“Babies?” 

“Yeah, Henry wants a baby.” Bailee smiled. “He said we can’t have a bilolical one, so we had to look for some at the baby shop.” 

I laughed and corrected her, “Biological. And it’s called an orphanage.” She didn’t mind that I laughed, waving it off with a light-hearted scoff.

“Yeah,  _ that _ .”

“A baby,” I thought out loud, “Sounds like a hassle.” A grin sneaked its way onto my face, making it clear that I was only joking. At least I wanted her to believe I was. Having a baby with a man she has yet to move in with? _Bailee, you’re smarter than that._ Even if it weren’t a problem, Bailee can’t take care of a baby all by herself, and I’m not sure I want Henry to raise a child. He only cares about work and Bailee’s hospital bills getting paid. Not loving at all.

I sighed in my head, feeling like a jerk. He’s  not bad for being too stoic. Bailee explained that he’s afraid of vulnerability, which is silly because Bailee is the complete opposite. Still, he’s not the parent type, and I don’t want  to be responsible for my sister  _ and  _ her child. A sigh escaped me again as I realized my opinion didn't matter. 

“ _ You’re _ a hassle!” Bailee laughed. 

“Of course I am!” I scoffed a few times, each one sounding  more dramatic. “Who the hell thinks otherwise?”

She giggled. “Oh, dummy! No one thinks otherwise!” I smiled at the way she played along, used to my dramatic outbursts.

“Did you choose a baby?”

“Hmm, there was one that I liked a lot. He was blond and had blue-er, yeah, blue! Blue eyes and blond hair. He was super tiny, too,” Bailee recalled, scrunching her nose in frustration. Her memory isn’t the best.

“That’s nice." I smiled. "Does he have a name?”

“Matthew. Sounds like math, but when you sneeze,” Bailee commented nonchalantly, “The lady said he was too small and sick to buy now, so she will text us--oh, well,  _ you _ \-- when he’s all good again.”

_ You gave my number to a stranger again? _ I  almost let  out a sigh, but caught myself, silencing it with a sip of wine. “How old is he?” I asked after a moment.

“Um, less than one.”

“I see.”

Soon, the  only sound in the room came from the TV. Cartoons. We are big fans of Spongebob Squarepants,  even though Bailee can’t understand most of the jokes. It’s nice to watch TV as a family, but our bond is weakening and I find myself growing distant. I need  more time for myself—to think, to figure  out my next step will be. There's no time to waste, and I need her to understand that.

“Bailee,” I called for her, “I have to tell you something about me. About why I’ve been acting different.” She tore her eyes from the screen.

“I don’t know what my path in life is. I don’t like being a cashier and I can’t stand the people I work with. They’re so boring and don’t understand my sense of humor. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen them smile! They’re really judgemental too, I can see it in their eyes when they look at me. I want to quit but I’m not sure if I should. And that’s not all of it.” I wanted to feel the satisfying sensation of light shoulders, but they still ached under tons of weight. Bailee watched me as my words seeped into her brain. I made sure to speak  slowly .

“I’m lonely,” I continued, “In a romantic way. I’ve tried to be in a relationship for at least three months, but it never works out. London doesn’t have the best guys, it seems. Though, I guess that’s what I get for finding guys at bars and clubs. They’re just looking for sex, alcohol, and drugs. I don’t want that. I want to be loved. I want to get married. And to know that I will never have that makes me sad.” 

Bailee frowned. “Don’t be sad, Frankie. I can help you get a boyfriend!” 

I might’ve sighed in my head again. 

“I know what will help,” she continued, “Online dating! You can meet guys out of London, and not in bars and clubs!” 

I had to smile. “That’s a great idea, Bailee. Will you help me create a profile?”

She nodded with excitement and leaped off the couch to go look for her laptop. I gasped, expecting her to fall on her face from the leap, but she was fine. Even if she did fall, she would’ve laughed it off. Her laptop sat on the coffee table, the bright pink stickers on it reminded me of my little sister’s energy. For someone with heart problems, she likes to move around a lot. 

“What website?” Bailee asked, seeming  to be talking to herself as she chewed on her manicured nails, “Maybe match.com!” 

“Can’t I just download Tinder on my phone?” 

“But I wanna see what happens! I don’t want you talking to creeps.” 

I blinked once, unsure if that was a good idea, but I nodded anyway. “Okay, match.com it is.” Is this her way of protecting me? My chest felt warm and I  was flattered , but what if someone tries to sext me? Is she  just gonna watch? I shivered at the thought.  _ Gross. _

Bailee typed in the URL with one finger, lifting her face up after pressing each key to check if the letter was there. I sighed  out loud and crossed my arms. Clicking my tongue, I taunted her, “Looks like someone needs typing lessons.”

My sister laughed,  finally pressing on the M key to finish off, “A waste of time! You know I will never learn; my hands are bastards!” A giggle escaped my lips. Bailee hit the Enter button and smiled at the blue link that popped up, “Here it is!” She clicked on it, and the login screen showed up immediately. 

“View Singles” showed up on the screen. Bailee pushed the laptop in front of me, asking me to take over.  Now came the fun part. 

“Specific age?” Bailee read.  Would I be okay with dating a fifty-year-old man who’s  probably going to die  before I reach my 40s?  _ Absolutely _ _ not.  _ Imagine how boring sex would be. I need a man with energy.  Would I be okay with an immature eighteen-year-old boy with a video game addiction?  _ Fuck no _ . He'll ask me to suck him off while he plays video games. So boring and tasteless!

Nodding to her question, I considered my options, “Hmm, I’ll set it from twenty to… thirty. I can’t be  _ too _ picky.” That made her giggle.

“Don’t forget you’re almost thirty!”

I gasped dramatically, “How  _ dare _ you say such a thing! I obviously just turned eighteen! Can’t you tell by my lack of wrinkles and grey hairs?”

“Thirty isn’t that old!” Bailee laughed. I moved on to the next step: height. My man _has_ to be taller than me. If he’s my height but _really_ hot and sweet, then I might make an exception. I set it from 5 '9, my height, to 6’10. Once I set up my preferences, it was time to create my bio. After that, I clicked on the arrow below to continue and saw that I already had matches.

“What the hell?” 

“Oof, maybe they’re desperate,” my sister suggested. I smiled, thinking:  _ I am  _ _ too _ .

Once my profile was set up, I started “liking” people, hoping they would “like” me back. I wondered if the process would’ve been easier on Tinder and considered making one behind my sister’s back. _Later_ , I decided. I was surprised when men started sending me messages, though they were dry and simple “Hello”s. Better than nothing. I messaged a few of them back and they seemed nice enough. Others were rude and said I looked like a woman. They mentioned several transphobic slurs as well. It was confusing and infuriating. None of the men I’ve been with thought my femininity was a problem. Or, at least, that’s what I think. 

_ Nate: why is ur hair like tht _

_ Me: Because I like it long?? _

_ Nate: u look like a grl  _

_ Me: I can assure you that I am  _ _ not _ _ a girl  _

_ Nate:  _ _ then _ _ ur a trap _

_ Me: No. I  _ _ just _ _ look feminine.  _

_ Nate: i don date gender confused traps srry _

Okay, he didn’t say trap. I can’t make myself write what he did say. Bailee made me block him immediately. 

Others were creepy. The first thing they mentioned was my femininity and treated it like a fetish.

_ Terrence: is the rest of u as prett y asyour face _

_ Me: Oh I wouldn’t want to sound  _ _ too _ _ narcissistic lol _

_ Terrence: ibet u have abig ass and nice thigghs _

_ Me: I can’t tell whether that’s a compliment or  _ _ not _

_ Terrence: and a tihgt,, smooth boy psusy _

_ Me: Excuse me?? _

_ Terrence: jusstf thunking qbout it makes me hortny  _

Bailee made me block that guy  too .

Some  just asked for nudes. Or sent them. I didn’t mind staring at dicks, but it would’ve been nicer if my sister wasn’t looking as  well . 

“Ew, what the heck!?” my sister shrieked  once it showed up on the screen. I grimaced.

I love my sister, but her idea isn’t working.

Monday 8:56 PM

5th of November, 2012

My therapist said I should write  _ my feelings _ down whenever I can. She said it helps. I don't know if I believe that yet, but I don't want to disappoint her.

But I'm not whining about my feelings like a dumb teenager. No "dear diary, I am very sad" shit. This thing I'm doing right now will stay on this page and  _ only _ this page.

I would hate for someone to find this journal in the future and see nothing but pages covered in pathetic cries for help. I want them to know my story.


	2. Safe and Sound

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is Safe and Sound by Capital Cities

123 Old Road

Newtown

London

SW1 3AA

10th of November, 2012

The gentle sun shone through heavy London clouds and illuminated white lilies spread across the front yard. Gardening: Mother’s only talent--besides being an intolerable pain in the arse. No, that’s a skill. 

I reached out and knocked on the door, bracing myself for any unrealistic  _ favors _ she might demand from me.

“There you are,” Mother scolded as she opened the door, “I’ve been waiting for you all morning!” She wore the usual: diamond jewelry and a knee-length evening gown with emerald gems along the waistline. Whoever she is trying to impress sure is taking a long time to react. She’s been wearing the same outfit ever since she kicked you out, and ironically, she’s had no luck with men since then. Allistor says her luck ended on her 6th bastard’s birthday. I don’t think it was Peter’s fault. 

One day my eyes will roll to the back of my head and it’ll be her fault. “You live in London, Mother. Traffic is unavoidable around here, in case you did not know.” A part of me wished to say more but taking a beating from a child-sized woman wasn’t exactly the path I wanted to take. 

“Enough!” She exclaimed dramatically, her hands resting on her chest as though in pain. Mother glared at me, grabbed me by the shirt, and dragged me inside. I groaned. That was my favorite shirt she was ruining!

“I need you to take care of something for me!” We entered the living room and my eyes scanned it for anything that would need my attention. Indeed, there was something--more like  _ someone _ \--waiting for me.

“Whose baby is that?” I asked her, afraid it could be her 7th bastard. On the velvet sofa lay an infant wrapped in an old striped blanket. I saw he (it was a “he”, right?) had a pacifier in his mouth as he turned his blond head to glance at me. He had striking blue eyes. They reminded me of the color of the sky. 

Sitting on the couch, I carefully held him in my arm to avoid the chance of him falling and hitting his head. As her 3rd bastard, I can say that Mother has no maternal instinct. The baby could’ve been lying there, unattended, for hours and no one--not even a God--was there to save it. Sometimes I wonder how I never died as a child.

“Helena had an overdose.” Mother shrugged nonchalantly, sitting at the loveseat beside the sofa, a cup of tea already in her hands. She took a sip with her eyes closed; let out a contented sigh afterwards. She set the teacup back on the coffee table and turned to look at me with a smile that I knew wasn’t genuine. “I was happy when I read that godparents aren’t responsible for godchildren when parents die,” Mother began, “but I had forgotten one tiny detail. Helena legally appointed me as the child’s guardian--I don’t remember when, but my signature is there. I can’t believe it. No father, no grandparents, no uncles, aunts--nothing! Now I’m stuck with the brat until I can kick it out when it turns sixteen.”

There was an unfamiliar glint in her eye. It looked as if she knew something I didn’t--as if she had planned every single word. 

“However,” she continued, “since I am its guardian now, I can appoint anyone I want as its new guardian. Do you follow?” 

I nodded numbly, understanding there was no way out. At the age of 23, I never found it possible, that for some reason, the devil--sorry, I meant my mother--would one day... dump someone else's child into my arms. Fresh out of college, I was. I thought I could see a clearer future, but god--fucking--dammit was I wrong! 

_ Calm down _ , I told myself,  _ Think for a moment _ . My mother has raised three men and three children; has beaten them down to a pulp, shattered their dreams, fractured their self-esteem. This world does not need another abuse victim. 

“What’s the baby’s name?”

“Alfred.”

A pudgy hand clutched my thumb, and I knew for the first time what true happiness felt like. Alfred watched with curious eyes, thin hair tousled from fidgeting so much. Having a baby didn’t sound so awful anymore. 

“So, where do I sign?”

“Pardon?”

“To adopt him.” I sighed, holding back the urge to bite my nails. 

Mother chuckled through a thin smile. She pulled a stack of folded papers out of a purse tucked behind a cushion and set it on the coffee table. With a tremble in my hand, jagged letters lay permanently on the papers. Incredibly underwhelmed, I clumsily folded Alfred’s birth certificate into my pocket and looked at my mother. I was a delicate branch about to snap in half. 

“Mother,” I muttered, “take care.”

She took a sip of tea, closing her eyes. “Don’t mutter, Arthur.”

“Right.”

The gentle breeze of the outdoors calmed me down, cooling my boiling blood before my veins could explode. I didn’t enjoy the feeling much longer than a few seconds. 

_ I am the guardian of a child now _ , I thought, _ I am a father _ . I glanced down as if to make sure the weight I held against my chest was indeed a child and not the product of a significant dose of LSD I wished I had taken that morning. 

“Yeah,” I confirmed to myself, “still a baby.” Alfred stared out at the street, watching cars pass by; pacifier still in his mouth. He pointed at a blue car and let out a demanding grunt. It could’ve been adorable if I hadn’t realized how little I understand babies. Are grunts good? Is there some kind of book I can read about the meaning of grunts? Do I have to sacrifice a virgin to get these answers? God, I’m going insane. 

A new realization hit me: I cannot drive home without a seat for Alfred. "Fu--uugde," I corrected. "Fudge. That's what I meant to say. Nothing else; just hungry." Alfred stared at me with fixated eyes, and the longer he stared, the more insane I felt. 

My legs started moving and before I knew it, I was walking into a department store. 

I didn’t know what I was doing. There were three different kinds of baby food in my cart, along with a cheap stroller, diapers, and a car seat. Then I wondered how I would carry everything, including a breathing baby, to my car half a kilometer away. Thankfully, Alfred sat peacefully as I died inside. 

Once in line, I took notice of the number of people in front of me and sighed. Alfred clutched my pinky finger and dragged my hand up and down as if it were a toy. A chuckle escaped my lips. As I approached the cashier desk, someone two rows away caught my attention.

He (I think) stood up straight, golden hair flowing down past his shoulders; uniform hugging his slim yet curvy form. The cashier’s eyes squinted just a bit as he focused on the screen of his computer. Naturally pouty lips parted ever so slightly as he spoke to the customer--his words inaudible. I wondered what his voice sounded like. 

I blinked back to reality and grimaced at myself. “Wow, that was gross of me,” I muttered. 

Carrying everything to my car must’ve granted me muscles because I was exhausted. Nonetheless, I survived and drove home. 

\- Arthur

P.S. I miss you.


	3. Wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is Wait by M83

Sunday 12:54 AM

11th of November, 2012

Papa used to tell me to be gentle with her. As a kid, I never understood why. She ran around, fell down, walked into walls, and stood back up again every time. The smile on her face was permanent. So, I didn’t listen to Papa and figured he was exaggerating. The day I saw Bailee laying face down on the grass, unresponsive, was the day I finally believed him. 

She was six the first time it happened and since then, I’ve always been careful. 

A couple hours ago, she’d been running across a field. I warned her to slow down; to watch for bumps and holes on the ground, but she wasn’t listening. Yesterday, I had promised her that I’d drive her to the park after work. She said she wanted to feel like a kid again. 

But, it was me who felt like a kid again when I saw her on the ground. Face down. And all of a sudden, I was eleven again. 

Once the truck arrived at the hospital, I was told to sit in the waiting room. Henry was there too. They must’ve called him. His eyes seemed to study my face, looking for the answers I didn’t have. I sat next to him and placed my hand over his. He stared at our hands for a moment before pulling his away. 

“She just fainted. It could be anything. I’m sure she’s okay.” The words leaving my mouth felt like a promise I couldn’t keep. Not a promise to Henry or my sister. It was a promise to myself. 

Henry saw right through me. I could tell from the way his eyebrows furrowed as I spoke. The woman on that hospital bed was the love of his life, which meant he had no time for my empty promises. He didn’t say so, being the polite man he was, but I could feel his doubt. 

“The nurses looked pretty worried,” he spoke carefully, hands crossed on his lap, foot tapping on the tiled floor. Henry kept his face straight, but his eyes were full of emotions.

“Don’t worry,” I told him.

“I’ll try.”

A sigh left my lips as I tried everything to distract myself. All kinds of people sat around us. There was a woman with three kids, who whisper-yelled at them for trying to break the vending machine for a free snack. I shook my head, unable to imagine the frustration she went through daily. Three kids were just too much. 

There was a man who looked to be in his 80s, sitting next to a cane, wearing a hearing aid, coughing the way I would imagine a dog would if it could. He watched the kids with a scowl and muttered something under his breath. I covered my mouth, holding back a chuckle. 

Henry watched me from the corner of his eye. “I don’t see how you can laugh right now,” he said. 

“Sorry. I’m trying to think about something else. You know, to ease the pain.” The pain that should’ve been more intense but for some reason it wasn’t. Must be in denial. I mean, she’s had enough successful surgeries—what else is it going to take? What else do  _ I _ have to pay?

I gulped. No, my sister’s illness is not about me. If anything happens, I’ll ask Henry to pitch in. What is he, a sales intern? He can pay for it. 

“Do you think she needs another heart?” Henry rubbed his temples. “She’s too tired for this. Why can’t God just give her a break?” 

“Maybe he’s not paying attention anymore.” I peeled off the clear polish from my nails to give me a distraction. They were long just how I liked them and only times like this could make me want to pull them right out. For the pain. I’d take physical pain over sadness any day.

“You’re starting to sound like a nonbeliever.” 

“I believe. I just don’t like him anymore.”

“We have to respect his decisions.”

I shook my head. “What if I don’t? What else can he do to me?” 

Henry stared at the tiled floor, his eyebrows furrowed forcefully, making more lines appear on his forehead. I regretted asking those things for a moment. It didn’t last long. Oh, how I hate being so shameless. 

Sighing, I stood up to stretch. I groaned at the satisfaction of my joints popping loudly. Seconds in a hospital felt like years ever since Bailee’s first incident. Every year, we’d sit in the lobby room, sweating out of every single gland of our skin as we prayed to any deity in the sky; to someone who would give Bailee enough strength to recover. Papa and I drowned in each other’s tears every time. Then we got tired.

_ “Papa,” I whispered, voice hoarse from all the crying I’d done already, “Why does God keep doing this to us?” I used my sleeves to wipe my face and watched him choke on his tears. Papa always suffered more in these situations as he was too much of an empath; unable to control his emotions.  _

_ I tried again, “She doesn’t deserve this.” He shook his head, blank eyes glued to the familiar tiles I grew to despise. Shiny, reflective, but morbid. Every time I saw them, my mind was clouded with fear, anger, and disbelief.  _

_ “No,” Papa muttered, “but that doesn’t matter. God doesn’t care that we love her. This is a game for him and we’re always losing. He knows this is tearing us apart. It amuses him.”  _

His words rang in my ears--I had wasted 13 years of my life for a god I thought I loved; now I see how easy that faith could be broken, that a merciful god could snap the wires and end it all. 

That night I told him, “I don’t want to go to Catholic school anymore.” 

The words “Are you Bailee’s family?” jolted me out of the past. I hadn’t seen the nurse enter the room. She held her laced hands to her stomach, remorse clear on her face. I didn’t hear what she said after that, her words muffled in my ears. Despite this, I knew what was happening. Henry’s tears said it all.

Sunday 4:27 AM

11th of November, 2012

I can't sleep. Knowing Bailee is gone forever now hurts a lot more than I want it to. There are no positives in my mind. 

“Why now?” I ask. There's no answer. All I can do is mourn and pity myself. 

I am crying too much.

Sunday 7:58 PM

11th of November, 2012

Sun rays burned through my eyelids; the throb in my head woke me up as the brightness shining past open curtains incinerated my retinas. I let out a groan and turned to check my phone. The bright “4:37 PM” on the screen made me groan even louder. 

“Fuck,” I mumbled, getting dressed in my pajamas.

I don't know how long I sat on the couch, staring at my phone. My muscles ached; my bones creaked. My head felt heavy and my eyes burned. The world around me was intact, but I felt like it could fall apart at any moment. 

My sense of being is on edge. Bailee is gone. Work is difficult. No one loves me. And my only friend is afraid of feelings. 

“I’m sorry you feel that way,” Yao yelled across the house. I stayed on the couch as he prepared himself tea, as usual. Calling him wasn't easy, but I needed company--even though Yao isn't the best with emotions. He said many times that he doesn't quite understand how our friendship survived this long. It’s not offensive because I’ve wondered the same. Still, I love him and I like to think he loves me as well. 

“I don't know what to do,” I mumbled once he sat by me. “All I can think about is her, the baby, Henry, and my future. I want to adopt Matthew, but I can't. I'm too depressed and I don't have my life put together. But I know it'll make Henry happy. It’ll give the baby a decent future. And I can fake my happiness…” 

“But I don't know,” I continued. “I need love to be happy.” 

Yao frowned and shook his head. “You don't need love. You  _ think _ you do. Get a new job; a new hobby. Go to a bar or call me. Life isn't about marriage or fidelity. You can have it, but not now.” 

I sighed and nodded. He's right as always. “What about the baby?” I asked. 

“What about it?”

“Do I adopt or not?” 

“Sure.” He shrugged. “Parenting isn’t hard. Just expensive and time-consuming. Kids could help you with your, uh,  _ sadness _ .” 

Yao doesn't believe in depression and I don't blame him. He grew up in a different culture. His parents never hugged him when he was sad and never hugged him when they were proud. Not being able to get out of bed because you're “sad” sounds pathetic to him, since no matter how he felt, he was always expected to persevere. I almost wanted to hug him right then and there. 

He continued: “If I felt down, I looked at my little brother. Then I felt like I could do anything. Kiku doesn’t know, but I know and that's enough.” 

“Thank you.” I smiled and held his hand. 

He smiled back and stood as he announced that I deserved some “good quality food”. I laughed a little. 

Monday 5:04 PM

12th of November, 2012

"You need a drink," he said and I played along. Yao is more of an alcohol enthusiast than I could ever be, so of course, he is biased. Alcohol won't give me my sister back. It won't pay my bills or hold me at night. But I played along. 

As much as I hoped I could sleep around to forget, I'm not the type of person who replaces sadness with pleasure so easily. Still, I played along. 

Yao ordered us strong drinks I didn't feel like enjoying at the moment. Blurry faces clouded my view as I planned my escape just in case. Amongst drunk strangers, a familiar grin caught my eye.

“No, not now,” I muttered. Sadiq strolled by with a girl I didn’t know.  _ Maybe the girl he left me for wasn’t as worth it as he thought,  _ I mused.  _ But why?  _ Molly, the girl he decided was better than me, was pretty--even sweet. This one, on the other hand, sported the shortest mini skirt I’d ever seen, along with terrible botox. I am opposed to slut-shaming, but for a moment, I wondered if I had stumbled into a porno. Her shirt sold the look, giving the impression of a bra that covered very little. 

Yao turned to see what I was looking at, only to gasp and turn back around. From the way his face turned red, I could tell he felt guilty. I faced the bar and downed a whiskey to keep myself from saying much. 

“Francis?” Said a voice laced with a Turkish accent. My stomach dropped and I was suddenly breathless, a foreign sense of anxiety eating me up inside. God, I was not okay. 

Swallowing hard, I turned to face Sadiq with a forced smile. “Hi! It’s been so long,” I exclaimed. Yao sighed at me and downed his drink, evidently dreading this confrontation. Still, I continued with my façade. 

“Who is this young lady?” Said  _ lady  _ giggled and brought a hand up to cover her tooth-gap.  _ Aw, maybe she isn’t so bad.  _ Sadiq watched me, eyes doubtful, but grinned nonetheless. 

“This is my girlfriend, Akila. Akila, this is Francis. We used to date.” He dug into me with piercing eyes, as if trying to break me.  _ Nice try. _ Akila’s eyes widened in genuine surprise. Sadiq continued, “Are you over me, yet?” 

“Of course I am.” I laughed. “You think too highly of yourself.” 

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, just so you know, I have a boyfriend who  _ isn’t _ afraid of commitment.” I turned to order another drink, hoping he’d get the hint and leave me alone. 

“Oh, really? Who?” He dug deeper. 

“You don’t know him.”

Sadiq laughed at me; made fun of me, holding his hand against his chest from the pain of his violent outburst. I’ve always hated his laugh. So obnoxious and loud… 

“Enough! I came to relax, not to watch a soap opera!” Yao huffed. He shooed the pair away with a flip flop, threatening to attack if Sadiq dared to harass me again. I laughed genuinely when I saw fear in the muscular man’s eyes. “I will stick it up your ass!” My friend exclaimed, ignoring the looks others gave him.

“I think I love you,” I told him once the couple hurried off. Yao smirked and declared that he’d be ashamed if I wasn't for he is a God. I sighed.  _ Typical Yao _ . 

Tuesday 8:47 AM

13th of November, 2012

Is my fate written in black pen? Permanent and thin? Made to look beautiful, yet the words marked down cry invisible tears as they are forced to create these wounds. There is nothing that can erase them, but mere existence. 

It sounds so easy.

Wanting is easy. Doing--now that’s the storm. For the longest, I’ve wanted to become a culinary arts instructor, but I still have no idea what it means. Perhaps all I want is to sound important. Then I want to marry someone who looks up to me, cherishes me, praises me… 

What I’ll  _ do _ will be different. At 40, I’ll marry a man who finds me merely satisfying and live among prizes on a shelf as a smudged trophy. 

Maybe I’ll have a child to keep me company while my husband meets younger men behind my back. 

That is the only part I looked forward to.

God, I’m crazy. Demented. Bonkers! Did I really do what I think I did? Is this sadness really strong enough to make me go completely insane? 

Matthew lay on a playmat, wearing a red dinosaur onesie; his eyes fixed on the animals dangling over him. He reached up to kick the elephant. Its clear belly held a tiny bell that chimed softly. This amused him. 

“You have no business being so cute,” I cooed and tickled his foot. He giggled and squealed, wiggling his little body around. As if it were magic, I completely forgot any sadness I had felt that morning and I instantly knew parenting was for me. This didn’t mean I wasn’t confused, though. Aside from playtime, I had no idea what it meant to take care of a 10-month-old baby. 

I grabbed my phone to check the time. “I told him to get here at 7,” I complained. Henry agreed to come over to talk and he was already 30 minutes late! I understood he’s also been hurting--I’m not  _ that _ selfish--but I wished he would warn me if he knew he was going to be running late.

Right on cue, the doorbell rang. 

“I’m so sorry,” he began and interrupted himself once he noticed Matthew in my arms. “What is this about?” Henry asked, voice trembling. I let him step inside. We sat on the couch in silence before I could gain the confidence to say anything to him. Henry is the only person who could do that to me. 

“I adopted him this morning.” I hesitated but continued nonetheless. “I thought he could cheer us up. After all, he’s all we have left. I’m sure Bailee would want us to take her place in raising him.” 

Henry nodded. “I see.” 

“I wanted you to come over so I could ask for help. I want you to be part of his life.”

His eyes watched Matthew, full of sorrow. I could tell he was considering it, but there was something stopping him. Perhaps he saw Bailee in Matthew. I know I did. 

“I can’t raise him. I’m not strong enough and work is already too much right now. But I  _ can _ visit once in a while, so he knows who I am and… who I could’ve been.” He glanced at me for a moment, then back at Matthew again. I told him I understood and did not judge him for it. He looked relieved. 

Meanwhile, Matthew tried to crawl off the couch, but I grabbed him just in time. “No, no, baby. You stay right here.” He whined and squirmed in my hands. 

“What’s wrong?” Henry asked him. 

“I think he’s hungry,” I said. 

After feeding him carrot purée, we watched him doze off in my arms. It was the first time I saw Henry smile in the absence of Bailee. 

Tuesday 10:57AM

13th of November, 2012

Henry left and now I have to decide what to do with my life. Out of all of my problems, a baby is only helping me forget my last moments with my sister. I am still lonely. I still hate my job. What will I do? What  _ can _ I do?

My phone vibrated. It was an email from match.com, saying that I was missing out on  _ so many _ hot dates.  _ How annoying _ , I thought. With a heavy sigh, I deleted the email and downloaded Tinder. 

“ _ Now _ I can have my fun.”


	4. Whatever It Takes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whatever It Takes by Imagine Dragons

123 Old Road

Newtown

London

SW1 3AA

15th of November, 2012

When parents take a child’s innocence, they strip him of the liberty of imagination and replace it with the anxiety of responsibility. My life has been a series of battles between childhood and early parenthood; a ten-year-old keeps score, his frail body shaking under the weight of two infants wailing for the attention of a mother. The light in his eyes fades as childhood lays in a puddle of despair. He is alone. 

The twins didn’t turn out the best, but can you blame me? They were only three when Peter was dumped into my arms. 

I know wishing is useless, yet part of me still longs for the gentle touch of a mother; sweet forehead kisses to let me know I am enough; to let me know I’ve done my best for all I am inside is a ten-year-old waiting for a new chance at childhood. 

Mother never hugged us. Never smiled at our accomplishments. Each one of us is a burden to her, only holding her back from living her dream. No one knows what that means. She locked us at home for hours, so she could go drug herself or, perhaps, get pregnant again. Luckily, six sons were enough. 

Damian and Alistair were never home either. 

University and work kept Damian away. He’d visit once in a while; took a weekend off of work to spend time with his four youngest brothers. Time was the only thing he could give us, being too much of a suck-up to stand up to Mother. This is his only flaw: showing loyalty to the perpetrator. 

Alistair, on the other hand, has a list of bolded flaws taped to his forehead. Living life as a drunk manwhore was easy for him while it disadvantaged everyone else. All that time spent chasing after prostitutes and whiskey could’ve been the help I needed.

I have no respect for him. 

That didn’t matter when Peter was born. That day was the happiest moment of my life because I knew his birth was the seal to your relationship with Mother. I had you again; the only person who could make me infinitely happy. 

It was a fun month. Then she kicked you out; banned you from speaking to Peter and me. She took away the two things you held most dear and demanded that you forget them. I still don't know what happened. 

After a few years, I was okay again. I graduated and moved into my own apartment with Peter after Mother granted me custody. She had selfish intentions, but I appreciated it nonetheless. Nevyn and Magee stayed with her, preferring the liberty of delinquency over dignity and discipline.

Out of shame, I promised myself I’d do a better job at raising Peter, but University kicked me in the face. I didn’t have time for him anymore. 

My Nordic neighbors adopted him, and I will forever be thankful. 

Despite this, Peter will always be my baby. He is ten now so he doesn’t like it when I say it. Still, he is the sweetest little boy and I’m proud of him. 

So, technically, I have two babies now. 

“He’s so fat and cute and _fat_!” Vlad squealed at the top of his lungs, sounding like a little girl who just met a real unicorn for the first time: insane. Black nails crept towards Alfred’s rosy cheeks like a threatening witch craving Hansel stew. I quickly took my baby away from the man, afraid the insanity could spread to Alfred’s sponge-brain.

“He is not fat,” I objected. “He’s just pudgy.” Dressed in nothing else but a diaper, Freddy revealed all of his baby glory; gentle rolls of pudge clung to his small body, making him irresistible to most. It took all of my dignity not to smother him with kisses. Still, he is not fat!

Vlad ignored me, of course, reaching over to tickle Alfred’s foot. The tot squealed, kicking the bastard’s hand away. I smiled and stroked his thin hair. In response, I got a rattle waved in my face. 

“You are quite the energetic one today,” I noted; he babbled in reply. “Glad you agree.” 

This prompted another high-pitched interruption from Vlad: “You two are _killing me_!” He took the baby from my hands and continued to torture everyone with his irritable cooing. Lukas (sitting on the couch) rubbed his temples, seeming to be in excruciating pain. I got up from the floor and sat by him. 

“Are you okay?” I asked. 

He lied: “Yes,” but I did nothing to get the truth out of him. Lukas isn’t the parental type, always claiming that cats are superior to children. It doesn't make it any better that he already has to live with my little brother. I can't imagine how he must feel about my son interrupting DnD. 

“I’ll get a babysitter next time,” I explained, “Just wanted you guys to meet him.” 

Lukas sighed. “It’s not him. It's you. This is going to change you--I know it. You’ll grow up faster than us and get married and then we won't have DnD day because you’ll be busy all the time.” Despite his words, the expression he wore was one of indifference. With hands in his pockets, figure slumped forwards, Lukas played the part of a dismissive friend. 

“No,” I began, “No matter what happens, I promise I will never forget you two. And I’ll never miss DnD day.” 

I could've sworn I saw a smile on his face.

“Then what are you waiting for?” Lukas grabbed a die from his bag. “Let’s play.” 

“Let’s play” was the first thing he said to me when we met in high school. We were self-conscious boys in need of social interaction, but being edgy and geeky lessened our luck. I was a lonesome punk, full of anger and hormonal imbalance. My favorite things to do were punching walls and taking hallucinatory drugs. Similarly, Lukas was a mythology geek who found joy in vodka, pain, and solitude. We were meant for each other. 

One day during lunch, I saw him sitting by himself. He had two action figures and a piece of notebook paper in front of him. 

“ _What are you doing_ ?” _I asked. He didn't respond, so I tried again. “Those look cool.”_

_Lukas stared for a moment before writing something down on another piece of paper: “thank you”. He showed me a drawing of a character he made up and explained it was for a game called Dungeons and Dragons. “I’m using them as a reference,” he wrote._

_“Why aren't you talking?”_

_He didn't look at me. “I don't feel like it,” I read out loud._

_“Why not?” I demanded. Lukas shrugged, making me furious. “That’s stupid! Just talk!” I slammed my fist into the table. Surprisingly, he didn't flinch a bit._

_He sighed and grabbed a die from his backpack. “Let’s play,” he muttered, “but please stop yelling.”_

The hyperactive drama nerd, Vlad, joined us when he left the drama club because they wouldn't let him direct a musical about vampires. He stormed out of the building and sat by the curb, waiting for his mother to pick him up. Lukas and I were smoking in the parking lot when we saw him. We felt pity for him, offering a cigarette. He declined, of course, but was appreciative nonetheless. 

He was excited to hear he could be anything in DnD--even a vampire. With him in our group, we moved DnD day from Wednesdays to Sundays, since he was busy with extracurricular activities all week. _What a nerd._

"Woo!" cheered Vlad after rolling a 15, "Count Vladula wins again!" Grabbing Alfred's arms, he made the baby do a little dance in his lap. Alfred looked up at him in confusion but giggled when the man began tickling his sides. "Suck it, ogres," Vladimir continued, "You can't beat greatness!" 

Lukas groaned, plugging his ears. "You do this every time! Don't you think it's gotten a little old?" 

"Woo!" the other exclaimed, "Woo!" He took a deep breath and did it again: "Woooo-!"

A slam against the table interrupted him as Lukas glared spears through Vlad's skull, his reddening fist replicating the red in his eyes. The loud sound caused Alfred to erupt in tears, which made Lukas angrier, it seemed. He stood and stormed out of the room like a child whose parents wouldn't let him eat chocolate for dinner.

I rolled my eyes and announced a break before taking Alfred back. "Shh don't cry, baby," I whispered to him as he whimpered and clung to my shirt. Placing a kiss on his forehead, I stroked his hair to help him calm down. Vlad watched with big eyes, looking as dumb as ever.

“Wow, you're good at this,” he said. 

“Uh, thanks.” I watched Alfred fall asleep in my arms and sighed in relief. “Hey,” I began, “you should stop being so loud. This has happened three times this month already.” 

Vlad pouted. “It’s _his_ fault for being so mean!” 

“God.” I rolled my eyes. “Sometimes I feel like I'm babysitting you two. Stop fighting like little kids and talk it out.” 

He groaned, scrunching up his nose. “No! Not until he starts being nicer!”

 _You’re an entire child,_ I thought bitterly and grabbed my phone to scroll through social media. Instagram is new to me so the rush of getting likes and comments hasn't gone away yet. I never got that when I used Facebook. Perhaps due to my “friends” there only being distant relatives I couldn't care less about. Instagram is different. It's young, colorful, and… exciting. 

Scrolling through comments, I read compliments directed at me and Alfred. Many were from friends and family, but there were a few from people I didn't know, which filled me with joy. _People like me now_ , I thought, my ears heating up. 

I was at the bottom of the comment section when something caught my eye. “Message me as soon as you can,” said katshkit, profile picture featuring a young woman with her cat. I couldn’t imagine what she would want to tell me, especially since I didn’t recognize her from the few pictures on her page. _Maybe she likes me? No, this sounds urgent._ Hesitant, I decided to humor her. 

_artkirkland04: Hello you wanted to talk?_

_katshkit: Yes!! My friend got a baby recently and it looks JUST like yours! Like… so much that it’s creepy…_

_artkirkland04: What are you getting at? I don’t understand_

_katshkit: Well I wonder if he’s lying about the baby,, like he borrowed yourss or something for pictures! Otherwise, I’d say they’re twins or clones!!_

_artkirkland04: He didn’t borrow mine for sure… I can check for you but I don’t think there’s anything weird going on_

_katshkit: Ok!! His insta is franbonbon_

My mind was clouded with questions, but I pushed them aside. With a sigh, I searched up the username and scrolled through a few pictures until I saw… my baby in the arms of another man. A very familiar man, but that’s irrelevant. Anyway. The baby had the same eyes, smile, and hair as Alfred. I couldn’t believe what was right in front of me. _Does Alfred have a brother? Mother never mentioned it._

When Vlad left to grab a snack, I quickly called Mother. “ _Hello?_ ” she answered. 

“Does Alfred--the baby have a brother?”

_“Yes, why? He’s not your problem if that’s what you’re worried about. I sent him to an orphanage because he was sick. I don't want a dead baby in my house.”_

_“_ No reason.” I gulped and hung up without saying goodbye. 

-Arthur


	5. Here Comes the Rain Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here Comes the Rain Again by Eurythmics

Wednesday 11:32 AM 

21st of November, 2012 

“Oh my god,” was the only thing I could say. A baby similar to mine sat on my lap, squealing at the birds flying over the bench. He was plumper and rosier than Matthew; still, those were the same dimples I’d fallen in love with the day I became a father. That was Matthew’s twin for sure. 

Alfred wiggled his tiny body with excitement, attention set on a pigeon eating crumbs. “He’s so bouncy!” I exclaimed and laughed. 

Arthur, the guy from that Instagram message, held Matthew as he flashed me a dazzling smile. _Stop it, Francis_ , I quickly reprimanded myself. _It’s not the time for that._ His eyes soon lay on Matthew, again; it looked as if they were trying to absorb all they could--from the blue-violet color of his irises to the way his toes curled forward. I felt something warm in my chest.

“I don’t know where he gets all that energy from,” Arthur commented, that smile never going away. “Whatever it is, I want some.”

A giggle escaped me.

He continued, “Matthew is so calm. I wouldn’t be able to tell them apart otherwise.” His fingers brushed the baby’s hair out of his face, then paused as Matthew reached for them.

“We can’t keep them apart,” I blurted out, the burning sensation buried inside my chest making it impossible to sit quietly. “I mean, they should grow up together, don’t you agree?”

“Of course!” Arthur glanced at me once more, the green of his eyes pulling me into a deep trance-- _Snap out of it! You do this with every guy you meet!_

I managed to catch the end of his sentence: “...can’t move closer.” 

“Why not?”

“Well, these are expensive houses.”

“You can move in with me!” _WHAT ARE YOU SAYING?_

My words floated in the air above me, staring in shame with a hint of pity. I silently wished a needle would appear in my hand; then I would have the option to sew my mouth shut. If only it were that simple. Instead, my words taunted me for being so careless and… _easy_. 

We sat in silence as Arthur seemed to consider the suggestion. He finally spoke up, “Can you cook?” 

“Yes, of course!”

“Do you clean?”

“Oui!”

“You live alone?”

Hesitance. I nodded, despite not being ready to accept Bailee’s fate. The instant shift in tone should've raised questions, but they never came. _Phew._

Chubby hands pulled my cross necklace hard enough to murder a man and distracted me from those thoughts. I gagged, untangling Alfred’s curious fingers from what started to feel more like a noose than a symbol of faith. 

“Shit,” muttered Arthur, quickly taking his baby back. “Sorry, he's got the force of an elephant.” 

“I see that…” Rubbing my neck, I watched the baby babble without a care in the world. That's what I like about them: they never have bad intentions. Or… any at all other than “I wanna touch that shiny thing”. 

Arthur turned to me and reached out to brush my hair away from my neck. “At least you won’t get a bruise,” he observed. My heart skipped a beat. I cursed at myself for acting like a schoolgirl, falling for boys whose intentions were to be nothing else but polite. Maybe that’s why I’m only lucky with the bad ones. I could never get a handsome British gentleman all to myself. 

“We should try it,” he said. 

“What?”

“Living together.”

Saturday 2:12 PM 

24th of November, 2012 

Nothing could have prepared me for the 167 boxes I carried up the stairs that morning. As someone with an overflowing closet, I understand having piles and piles of belongings--what I don't understand is why this man has _twelve_ tea sets! What’s he planning to do with all of them? Hold a tea party? Did I just invite the Mad Hatter into my home? 

Well, that doesn’t sound too bad. I could use infinite tea and crumpets right now, especially after breaking my back with all of those boxes. “If only I had tea”, I’d say, but I don’t have to since my new roommate brought his entire collection. How British can a man get? I’m afraid of the answer to that.

Unfortunately, my mouth betrayed me once again, and the silent question became a louder-than-intended mutter. Arthur turned away from one of his beloved tea sets to raise an eyebrow at me. 

“You're quite the stereotype yourself, _frog_.” 

I clenched my jaw to keep my mouth from hanging open. _HOW DARE HE? AND RIGHT AFTER MOVING IN!_ So many questions came up: Is this lovely gentleman actually a rude bastard in disguise? Did I make a mistake in bringing him here? Why am I attracted to pricks who talk down to me? 

Rolling my eyes, I pretended it didn't affect me. Luckily, I'm a brilliant actor. 

“How original, _rosbif_ ,” I replied before opening a new box. And--oh, what a surprise! _Another_ tea set. At that moment, the only thing keeping smoke from coming out of my ears was the way he chuckled. Silky smooth yet mocking and, maybe, a little cruel. 

God, I'm pathetic. Bring back the sadness, for I cannot stand these new feelings! 

Arthur shook his head, clearly amused, and gently placed a teacup inside the cupboard. “If I said I'm a tea addict, it would be an understatement.” He dropped an empty box into the growing pile by the dining room entrance. “Tea is my life source,” he joked. 

“Mine are flies.” I turned, sending him a smug grin. 

“Makes sense, being a frog and all.”

“What else were you expecting?” 

“Maybe cheese and wine.”

“Don’t forget sex.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, how could I?”

The front door slamming shut interrupted our exchange; from the hallway emerged a face I would've been happy to see if it hadn't approached at such an uncomfortable moment. Yao glanced at me and then at Arthur. I could tell he sensed something unusual going on. Thankfully, he didn't point it out and instead explained why the twins I remembered placing in his arms weren't there anymore. 

“Basch has them,” Yao said, and panic immediately filled Arthur’s eyes. Without words he asked me who Yao was talking about--I knew because of the way he made eye contact with me, waiting for an answer to calm his racing heart. I silently cursed at my irresponsible friend.

I found myself facing my neighbor; a bundle of shame and nerves lay in my stomach, taunting me with nausea. Basch watched me with concern, most likely wondering why I’d shown up at his door with a stranger. It took me a second to realize that Yao hadn’t told him that one of those babies he had been babysitting was mine, and I immediately felt the urge to choke someone. Thankfully, Arthur acted quicker than I did. 

“Excuse me, but I have a reason to believe that you have my baby-- _our_ babies, actually. We would like them back, please.” As he spoke so politely in that silky voice of his, I felt my insides turn to putty. _Our babies_ … I heard it echo in my head. _Our babies… our babies._ I imagined us living domestically, watching our babies grow up, and holding hands at family reunions, and kissing--

Suddenly, I felt okay again. 

With a nod, Basch invited us in. On the living room floor were our babies along with his daughter Erika. She shared her toys with them, introducing each doll as if the twins could understand her. “And this is Molly. She makes cakes for dogs because she loves them so much.” Alfred took Molly and shook her around. 

“No, she’ll get sick!” 

“Hello Erika.” I smiled and sat beside them. “Having fun?” My heart skipped a beat when Arthur sat down as well, but I did my best not to show it. Erika nodded shyly, taking her doll back. 

Matthew crawled into my lap, letting out a big yawn. I cradled him while the other two continued playing, Alfred putting toys in his mouth as the little girl begged him not to. His father reprimanded him about it, but he didn’t seem to care. 

“Alfred, putting other people’s toys in your mouth is rude and unsanitary,” lectured Arthur. I kept my giggles in, afraid he’d get offended. 

Basch watched from the couch. “I didn’t know you had a child.” 

“Um, I got him almost two weeks ago.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. Then he glanced at Arthur before speaking up again: “And who is this?” 

“New roommate,” I replied. Arthur introduced himself, polite and charming as always. He also introduced Alfred, explaining how each of us had ended up adopting a baby without knowing he had a twin. Basch’s face never changed; stoic eyes staring into our souls. Yet, after living next to him for most of my life, I knew he was intrigued. It was the way his body faced us--he was at the edge of his seat. 

“Hm. I heard what happened, Francis. I’m sorry for your loss.” 

_Oh no. I’m not ready for this conversation._

“Loss?” wondered Arthur. I shook my head, ready to tell a lie, but Basch interrupted me to explain that my sister had passed recently. Hearing those words made it official in my head. She was gone forever. The Brit apologized for asking, and I nodded, not paying attention to anything but the numerous thoughts bombarding my brain. Bailee was in there, telling me everything was alright. I wanted to believe her. 

I gulped. “That’s why I adopted Matthew. She was supposed to be his mother.” 

No one spoke. Basch’s eyes shifted for once, reflecting unnecessary guilt--it wasn’t him who had to feel sorry.

I never spent enough time with her. 

I didn’t take care of her properly. 

I’m a horrible brother and there is no way I can make it up to her now.

“So,” changing the subject was difficult since their faces watched me with remorse; I stared at Matthew instead. “Why did Yao bring the babies here?”

“Family emergency, I believe. Something about his sister being pregnant.” 

_What? Why didn’t he tell me?_

_Oh right, I was mad at him for leaving Matthew and Alfred at my neighbor’s house without telling me. I’ll have to talk to him after this._

And I did. Poor Lien; getting pregnant at 19 must be hard. Especially while having a brother like Yao yell at you in front of the rest of your siblings for “forgetting to use a condom”. I don’t think she forgot it, Yao. It’s irresponsible, but you can’t blame her for trying it out. 

Then again, I wonder what I would’ve been like if Bailee had arrived home pregnant. She was only 20 when she started considering having children; I can’t imagine what would’ve happened if Henry hadn’t told her that adopting was a better option. 

I smiled at the memory of my sister. It’s bittersweet, but I’m slowly getting better. Talking to Arthur about it helped a lot. 

“Bailee used to draw on the walls when she was younger,” I told him as we stood in her room. “Then Papa would frame her scribbles and say she’s an artist. They looked like an animal had made them, though,” A chuckle vibrated in my throat. It felt warm--almost as if I was covered in blankets near a fireplace. 

Arthur smiled. “Your family sounds sweet.”

“They are. I love them.”

“I can tell.”

“What about yours? What are they like?”

He hesitated. “They’re a mess, but I guess some part of me still loves them. Except Peter--I love _him_ with all of my heart.” Hearing him speak so fondly of his little brother made me feel warm again; wishing I could, somehow, become part of his family someday, so he could get all the affection he deserved. Of course, I only wished it because I was attracted to the man. Oh, how desperate could I possibly be? 

We discussed our families some more, then our jobs. I told him how excluded my coworkers made me feel; how living each day as nothing more than a cashier made me feel as if my dreams aren’t worth following. He said he saw me at work a few weeks ago, which made me blush because I look so miserable in my work clothes--and my new crush saw me in them? There is no way he likes me after that. What he said was important though: since life was currently emotionally and physically draining for me, I should be able to take a break from work. He doesn’t get a lot of money as a teacher, but it’s enough to pay bills on his own. 

The problem is that my brain translated that to “Quit your job right now, bitch; you deserve it”, so that’s what I’m gonna do. Maybe I can sell paintings or become a photographer. Or a stay-at-home husband--who knows? All _I_ know is that I’m excited for what’s to come.


	6. Alleyways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alleyways by The Neighbourhood

123 Old Road

Newtown

London

SW1 3AA

29th of November, 2012

What did you ever see in Mother? Love is blind, but to what extent? 

As a teenager, I never expected to end up in a relationship. Just the idea of touching someone else’s lips repulsed me—the slimy images of saliva, cold sores, and premature mustaches were enough to make my stomach churn. 

As an adult, I may consider it sometimes. 

Women aren’t interesting to me. I thought men weren’t as well until I met a man who confused me to no end. Francis is pretty. Well, beautiful. Actually, I don’t know. Whenever I hear someone call another person beautiful, they always refer to a woman with a ton of makeup on and more curves than brain cells, so I never considered that a man could be beautiful too. 

This isn’t love. I’m just curious as to what romantic affection feels like and why people enjoy it so much. It is odd how after 23 years of pushing potential partners aside, a Frenchman ends up changing my mind. 

Is it his hair? Maybe his laugh? I can’t find the reason why he’s always on my mind. 

It could be the way he sways his hips when he walks.

Ew. What.

I’m not going to convince myself that I don’t like men—I just wish I hadn’t avoided these feelings for so long. Then, maybe, they wouldn’t be so difficult to understand. If, as a 12-year-old, I had explored the reason why my hand yearned for the touch of another boy instead of ignoring it because it felt “weird”, I wouldn’t be confused right now. 

This isn’t love, but it makes me consider the phrase “love is blind”. A witty Frenchman with long hair and a thick accent who prefers bread over tea? If this turns out to be love, then it sure is blind. 

But it isn’t love. There is a logical reason behind these feelings and it might just be the accent. Whenever he talks, I feel all tingly inside as if the dynamite hidden in my chest had been ignited without my permission. 

“Arthur,” Francis practically purred, “When are your brothers getting here?” 

It’s the accent. 

“They were supposed to be here 30 minutes ago.” I groaned, having expected it from Alistair, but not Damian. He assured me that he was free today. “I swear, if Alistair arrives 3 hours late again, I’ll kill him.” 

Francis shook his head, clearly amused. He stood by the refrigerator, pulling out a bin of leftover pasta from last night; didn’t bother microwaving it as he claimed his cooking was wonderful both warm and cold. I can’t disagree, but I do find it a little odd. 

“Don’t worry, they’re most likely stuck in traffic,” he reasoned while dumping some pasta in front of the twins, who both sat in their respective highchairs. They ate it all up within seconds. “Woah,” Francis exclaimed, “You two were real hungry, weren’t you?” They giggled. 

Sighing, I rested my cheek against my palm and watched Francis feed them more. Moments like these made me wish days were longer; that whenever I came home from work, the few moments I had with my children weren't ticking on a clock. Francis has created a world with them in only one week. I, however, feel as if I've been here for no longer than two hours.

I quickly realized that parenting was harder than it sounded. Because Francis isn't just my roommate—he's my co-parent, whom I cannot touch. Maybe I don't keep my distance on purpose, but I now realize that my infatuation for him is slowly stepping in between my children. Our children.

_ This’ll be difficult _ , I thought.

As I stood to offer a hand in cleaning up after Matthew and Alfred, the doorbell rang.  _ They ruin my life even after I’ve moved an hour away.  _ Groaning internally, I grabbed Alfred and wiped his hands with a napkin—Francis did the same with Matthew before hurrying up to the door. Unlike me, he was excited to meet my brothers, having cleaned the entire living room just for them. It was adorable. I think. 

Nothing could soothe the turmoil in my stomach as Francis opened the door with a radiant smile on his face. A scruffy redhead cheered my name, pushing past to engulf me in a rib-crunching hug. My organs were pushed to my core by the brute I happen to call “brother”. Alistair grinned once he let go of me, unaware of my suffering—Alfred giggled; I wondered how he managed to survive that. 

Behind him were the rest of my brothers: Peter, Magee, Nevyn, and—

“Did Damian drive separately?” I asked as the youngest ran up to me for a hug; a smile appeared on my face, unfamiliar yet genuine. Peter’s eyes widened at the sight of Alfred as if he’d never seen a baby in person, reaching to hold his tiny fist. He had been living with Alistair while his parents went on honeymoon. They truly deserved it for Peter was turning into a delightful young man. 

Alistair scratched his beard. “I wasn’t aware he was coming,” he replied with a slight grunt. Then, he took Alfred from me and cooed about how cute he was; he gasped when he realized there were _ two _ babies, not hesitating to scan his greedy eyes over Francis as well.  _ Twat _ .

I sighed, ashamed of myself for expecting more from Damian. Some people never change, it seems. Speaking of changes, glancing at the twins behind Alistair, I noticed quite a few. Magee had nonsensical tattoos scattered along his arms, including a pineapple with breasts and a surfing cigarette. At least one could say he has an imagination unlike any other. And Nevyn had brown streaks in his ginger hair; I hoped it was mud, but something told me he had done it on purpose. 

“Won’t you two say hello?” I smiled.

“Sorry, Artie—the fucking manwhore forgot to feed us again, so we're cranky today.” Magee huffed and kicked Alistair in the shin. Unlike Nevyn, it was hard to get Magee angry, so the infamous “Alistair forgot to feed me” pattern must've been too familiar to him.

“What the shit, ya little cunt!” 

Francis’s eyes widened at their flowery language. From what I know, his family is affectionate and loving—not dysfunctional at all, so it'll take him a while to get used to the death threats and insults rooting from “that thing you said when I was ten”. 

“Can we go to Mcdonald's or something?” groaned Nevyn, his crossed arms tightening. “I don't wanna eat any animal’s stomach ever again.” He scrunched up his nose—his taste buds recalled the taste of haggis and committed suicide, I assumed. Or died instantly from the memory alone. Either worked.

I turned to Francis and asked him if that was fine. With a smile, he nodded, taking Alfred from Alistair. “Babies shouldn’t eat greasy food, though, so I’ll pack them a few snacks.” He left to do that while my brothers watched me with knowing eyes. I glared at them. 

“Is that your new boyfriend?” Alistair asked. “You’re a lucky man, Artie!”

“He’s just my roommate.”

“Sure he is,” he taunted. 

The twins snickered, whispering to each other. I groaned. 

It took an eternal car ride full of obnoxious smirks from Alistair, but we all managed to arrive with our limbs intact—despite how much I wished to dismember him. Francis seemed to notice and shifted in his seat, but never mentioned it. 

Once at the restaurant, we all took a seat while Alistair ordered for us. My sons sat in high chairs, picking at the cereal Francis gave them. Alfred tried to stick some on Matthew’s face, causing the latter to whine and push his arm away. I scolded, “Don’t play with your food, Alfred.” He giggled at me, throwing cereal at my face instead. 

Francis covered his mouth, muffling a laugh. It would’ve been sweet if my face wasn’t sticky with baby saliva. Groaning, I wiped my face with a napkin, hoping Alfred would learn to behave someday. The way he babbled without a hint of remorse made me doubt it. 

“Where’d you get those tattoos, Mags?” I asked. Magee told me how their father had taken them to his home in Hawaii. That explained their unfortunate makeovers. 

Nevyn kept to himself, eyes glued to his smartphone. He caught me watching and frowned, turning to face the wall beside him. I wondered what delinquencies he had planned so far, hoping that someday he’d use his intellect for good. It wasn’t that easy though. 

The rest is unmemorable. After the kids ate, we drove back, but before getting out of the car, I told Francis to take the kids inside because I wanted to discuss something with Alistair. He did as I said with a smile. Alistair, however, was visibly nervous about it. I laughed at him. 

“Calm down, mate. I lied about that.”

“Why would you lie to your boyfriend?” he said with fake concern. “That’s gonna get you in trouble, mister.”

“Alistair, I  _ will  _ punch you if you don’t shut your mouth.”

He rolled his eyes, smiling at me as if I were a child. “You’re too easy, Artie.”

“Whatever. I need you to drive me somewhere.”

“Why’s it a secret?” Pulling out of the driveway, Alistair handed me his phone so I could plug in the address. “Got a date?” 

“You’re one word away from death, Allie,” I said, quickly typing it in. Siri started giving him directions so he gave up on our conversation rather quickly, focusing on the road instead. We drove for fifteen minutes or so, arriving a lot faster than I expected. I told Alistair to wait in the car in case he planned on embarrassing me in front of a complete stranger. 

That was the thing. I’ve seen her pictures online, but there’s no way of telling if this person is real. Or if she’s not nice at all. Nonetheless, I was prepared for the unexpected as I approached the small house surrounded by trees from all sides but the front. _Maybe_ _she’s a witch from a fairytale who seduces young men and eats them_ , I thought. _But she didn’t seduce me. I volunteered to come, so I deserve whatever happens to me._

With a big sigh, I knocked on the door. The few seconds it took for her to open it gave me a chance to glance over at Alistair, who was busy blasting music in the car. I wondered if he still liked the same bands he did when I was a teenager. Probably not. 

“Arthur,” said a cheery voice. “Come on in! I made cookies.” I was met with a tall woman, dressed in a frilly blouse and casual pants. She smiled and invited me inside. Her home looked similar to her: obnoxiously happy, but aesthetically pleasing to the eye. We sat in the backyard, drinking apple juice from carton boxes. There were toys spread all across the house and yard—and whichever child they belonged to must’ve been very interested in domesticity, having nothing but dollhouses, toy kitchens, baby dolls, and even a toy vacuum. 

“Katyusha—”

“Please, just call me Kat.” 

“Ah, Kat. You said you went to school with Francis. Care to tell me what you know about him?” 

She crossed her legs, glancing to the side. “He was in Year 10 when I graduated, so I didn't get to know him very well. I do remember he was very responsible—taking care of sister, studying, and working at same time.” 

“He took care of his sister at 15?”  _ Just like me with my brothers, _ I thought,  _ but why didn't he tell me? _ Taking another sip of apple juice, I heard the pitter-patter of tiny feet slapping against the floor. I glanced past the opened sliding door to meet a child’s eyes. “Hello, there,” I said to him. 

He waved, then stared at the ground and hid his hands behind his back. The little boy wore brown pajamas, a platinum fringe poking out of the hood decorated with bear ears. His feet pitter-pattered onto the pavement as he approached the woman. “Katya,” he said before mumbling in Russian. 

“Vanya, what did I tell you?”

“Talking Russian in front guests is rude?” 

“Yes.” She smiled and patted his head. “This is Arthur. Say hello.” 

He muttered a hello, chubby cheeks turning pink as he introduced himself: “My name is Ivan…” 

“Nice to meet you, Ivan.” I offered him a cookie, which he took happily. The way he ate so sheepishly made me wonder if Matthew would grow up to be shy as well. Alfred, though, wouldn't change much—I assumed. “How old are you?” 

“Five,” he replied, holding up five fingers just in case. 

_ Oh _ .  _ I thought he was eight. _

Kat must've caught my surprise as she laughed breathily. “He’s very big for his age. Started walking at 6 months and running at 8!” She watched him lovingly, making sure he wasn't getting crumbs inside his clothes. Ivan huffed a little as she fussed over him. 

“I imagine that was stressful. Mine can't crawl yet and I still constantly worry about them getting hurt.” 

“You have Francis, though, so don't fret. He’s very caring, as I said earlier.” 

“Right,” I said. “Who did  _ you _ have?” 

She gave Ivan her juice box and placed him on her lap. “No one at first, but then I started dating Eduard. He takes care of Vanya when I'm at work.” A small frown appeared on her face; it didn't fit her, but the sad puppy eyes did, oddly enough. “Mama is pregnant again, so Eduard decided to move in when baby is born.”

“Oh, Ivan isn't yours?”

“No. Mama is not stable, so I take care of him for her.” 

Ivan shifted in her lap and slid off to grab the fluffy brown cat rubbing itself against Kat’s leg. He hugged it from behind, allowing its hind legs to dangle about. Now, I'm not a cat, but I do not lie when I say that I felt its pain more than vividly. Then, Ivan sat on a chair beside us and pouted when the cat scurried away. 

Kat shook her head at him. “He’ll never like you if you squeeze him, Vanya.” She went for the juice box Ivan left on the table, but pulled away when the boy whined that he wanted the rest. “Will you share with new baby sister, at least?” 

He considered it and shook his head. 

“Why not?” 

“Is mine.”

“Fair enough.” Kat sighed. “Eduard is better at this. He knows how to get it through his mushy head.” 

I chuckled. “Don't look so defeated. I've noticed that you're like Francis when it comes to parenting. He’ll do anything to keep them smiling.” 

“And you?”

“Well, let’s just say that once they've grown enough, I’ll be in charge of the discipline part. Francis is a good father, but he's too soft.”

“Oh, definitely,” she agreed. “He’d complain about having to take care of sister all the time, but when I saw them together, I could sense how proud he was. I didn't understand, because Bailee seemed like any other disabled kid. I didn't understand that hint of improvement could mean so much to him.” 

I blinked. “Disabled?”  _ He never mentioned that before. What else is he hiding? _

“Yes. I don't remember what specifically, but yes.” 

“That makes everything so much worse.” I groaned and Kat tilted her head because of course she does that—she also makes it look completely natural. How? My guess is that she grew up with 25 puppies and picked up their body language. Nonetheless, I controlled myself. “Bailee… passed recently,” I explained. 

“Oh, God,” she whispered. “How is he?”

“The kids distract him enough, I think. He did say he was fairly depressed before we met, but he may be hiding his emotions now.” 

“Hmm, yeah. Francis never showed negative emotions in front of anyone, unless he was gossiping about some girl,” she told. “Then he would get smug and say embarrassing things about people.” 

“Francis was a ‘Mean Girl’?” It felt odd to imagine him criticizing people with the intention to hurt them. That was nothing like him—but, what do I know? I only met him a few weeks ago!

Kat laughed, lightly slapping her thigh. “Sometimes!” Her fringe slipped out from under her headband, causing her to huff and tuck it back in place. Yeah, she and Ivan were definitely related. 

About to ask more, I opened my mouth to speak, but my phone distracted me enough to pull me out of my thoughts. “Excuse me,” I said and checked my notifications.  _ Why do random people keep DMing me?  _

_ Magyar_liza735: remember me? _

Before typing something rude, I clicked on the username to check that this person wasn't just being a creep. And I felt a knot tighten in my stomach as the face of someone I thought I would never see again showed up on screen; it wasn’t fear, though. It was relief—the bittersweet feeling you get when you reconnect with the greatest friend you’ve ever had. You wonder how many things you could have achieved together during the time they were gone, and your heart sinks further. 

But they’re back. She’s back. The person who made me realize that I’m more than the insults my mother and my brothers spouted at me every day; who taught me how to love myself. 

I remember how I felt the day she graduated. Face covered in tears, I begged her to come back after college, because I couldn’t bear to imagine living everyday life without her beside me. She was the only thing keeping me sane. 

Kids teased me for “loving an older girl”, but I knew in my heart that in a perfect world, she would be my perfect mother. One that has lessons to teach and stories to tell. A loving mother who is proud of her son. 

_ “Elizaveta,” I mumbled. “There’s nothing I can do about it. She controls my life.” We smoked behind a gas station, balancing ourselves on the wall that divided the dumpster area and the forest. With my legs dangling about, I glanced at her and frowned. Eliza shook her head as she snaked an arm around my shoulders.  _

_ “No, she doesn’t. Only you control your life, kid. You chose to take care of your brothers _ — _ she didn’t make that decision for you.” _

_ “I guess you’re right, but _ —” 

_ “No buts! Don’t let her affect you so much,” Eliza said. “What matters is that you believe in yourself. And you do, right?” _

_ “Uh…” _

_ “Oh, Arthur. You still need to learn a lot.” _

_ I smiled and rested my head against hers. She held my hand, telling me that I could achieve anything if I believed in myself. It sounded incredibly cheesy, but coming from her, it felt more genuine than anything else I’d been told. _

“Arthur? Is something wrong?” Kat spoke up, offering another juice box. I shook my head as I excused myself for being rude, and explained that someone important had texted me. She nodded understandingly—but the glint in her eyes suggested something I wasn’t comfortable with. “Is it Francis?” she teased. 

“What? Why would it… what?”

“Oh, come on. I’ve seen the way your eyes light up when you hear his name. Like right now!” She laughed as I sputtered, slapping her thigh. “You’re not a good liar, you know.”

“I technically didn’t lie…”

Holding back a sigh, I glanced over Ivan, who gingerly walked up and asked if he could take my juice box. I smiled, “Of course, love.” His face reddened as he mumbled a “thank you”. 

“Thank you, Kat,” I said, “but I can’t stay too long. My brother is waiting in the car.”

“Oh, thank you for coming!” With a huge smile on her face, she handed me a handful of cookies. “Take these home—oh, and tell Francis to come visit me sometime! I’d love to see him again.” 

Nodding, I stood and patted Ivan’s head. He smiled, twiddling his thumbs on his lap; it made me want to kiss all over his face. “Goodbye,” I said to them. Kat followed me to the door and gave me a short hug, telling me how happy she was for me. I smiled, feeling awkward from the unexpected embrace, but tried my best not to show it. “I’ll see you soon.” 

As I walked up to the car, the only thing on my mind was Elizaveta. _Should I text back?_ _Did she see that I left her on read? Does she think I’m a dick now?_ With a deep sigh, I closed my eyes and counted to five. 

_ artkirkland04: I’ve missed you _

\- Arthur


End file.
